


with cutlass and with gun

by bwyn



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 11:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwyn/pseuds/bwyn
Summary: Leaning over the rail, Soul shouts, “Stay the hell away from my money!”Standing near the wheel, a plumed hat tips up against the sun. The other ship’s captain flashes him a grin that sets Soul on fire. “First come, first serve,” she yells right back.***Soul and Maka are captains of their own ships, and Soul is getting pretty sick of her stealing his loot.





	with cutlass and with gun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dwreed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwreed/gifts).



> for the holiday exchange :))))) ily pevvie and i hope u enjoy this. i listened to a lot of sea shanties while writing....

The deck is clean, the sails intact, but something about the merchant vessel appears bedraggled. Not exactly a good sign for a crew of pirates. From where he stands on the quarterdeck, an arm tossed over the wheel languidly, Captain Soul Evans casts a seemingly lazy gaze across the anatomy of the ship. His men are still searching, but thus far they’ve only found the merchant crew, who now sit in a strangely patient group on deck.

Just as his error dawns on Soul, a screech tears its way out of the hatch. He leans over the wheel. The sound gets louder as well as distinguishable; so it isn’t a surprise when Soul watches the blue head of hair belonging to his first mate appear from below deck. His face is red and lips puckered in frustration.

“It’s already been emptied!” he yells.

Soul’s elbow slips from the wheel; none of his crew nor that of the boarded vessel comment on the bang that follows as face meets wood—except for Black Star, who chokes on a guffaw. Soul gestures sharply, and they begin to disengage.

The prow of the _Ocean’s Scythe_ cuts through the water, leaving the merchant vessel bobbing idly in the middle of the sea. Locked in his cabin, Soul sits at his desk with papers strewn across its surface, an organized chaos. Here, with relative privacy, Soul allows himself to exhale, long and slow, and then smack his forehead to the desktop—for this isn’t the first time they’ve tried raiding an already raided ship, nor is it the second.

And Soul is feeling the pressure.

* * *

Information about another ship ripe for the taking arrives by the end of the week. Soul nearly brains himself on the corner of the table in his haste to get moving, while the rest of the small crew exchange glances and get to work at a normal pace. Amidst mutterings of “Not _this_ time” and “Let’s see you beat me there now”, Soul drives his crew to get the ship there faster, falling short of demanding the sails be charmed.

“Oh shit,” Soul hears Black Star say over the strain of wood. It’s been two days since setting sail, and with a navigator like Ox, they should be right on top of their target vessel right now.

Unless…

Soul flings himself against the leeward rail and sure enough, he sees it on the horizon: that cursed ship riding the bleeding edges of sunset.

“ _Go!”_ he bellows in uncharacteristic fury, but no matter how fast their ship moves with the wind, the other gets there first.

By the time Soul’s crew has arrived, there’s nothing left for them but to witness the snap of a flag—skull grinning in a bed of jewels, as though in mockery of their own—as the smaller ship passes by. Soul grabs Black Star’s looking glass and presses it to his eye, scanning the deck while fighting the curl of his lip. There—a figure at the wheel, a jaunty captain’s hat with a large plume jutting from it. Soul nearly chokes on his spit.

“What?” demands Black Star, making a grab for the telescope and earning an elbow to the face. Only when the ship has become a speck does Soul hand it back to his first mate. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Soul schools his expression back to one of nonchalance, but it takes a lot more effort than usual, as everything seems to lately.

“Their captain,” he says, going for a drawl and failing miserably, “is a woman.”

Black Star stares; so too does the rest of the crew, as they’d been eavesdropping intently instead of working the ropes.

“As a matter of fact,” Soul adds, “the entire crew appear to be women.”

“Oh shit,” says Black Star, a sentiment echoed in varying degrees of alarm by the others, for the gravest mark of bad luck is to have a woman aboard a pirate ship, worse still as part of her crew, and undoubtedly a crew solely made up of them could only mean one thing.

“We’re racing a cursed ship,” says Soul grimly.

* * *

The papers on his desk are less organized and mostly chaos when Kilik and Black Star enter Soul’s cabin. They don’t mention the way Soul has his head cradled in his palms, staring down at maps and gathered intel—though Black Star only stays silent because of the elbow that Kilik stabs into his ribs.

They remain quiet for a long minute, until Soul informs the desktop, “We need a plan.”

“I thought you had one,” says Black Star. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“No. Maybe.” Soul groans and slaps his palms flat against the paper. “Okay. There’s a shipment of finery due to arrive in Port Kifo, but that accursed ship has a headstart on us. If instead we focus on the noblemen’s cruisers along the coast, we can scrape what they’ve got, but we run the risk of crossing the navy. We can’t hang around Ukufa Strait anymore because it’s been red lit by the border guard. So the only option that doesn’t run us up against navy cannons is that shipment of silk and dye, which means racing those— _what_ , Black Star?”

The first mate flinches. “N-nothing!”

“You’ve been twitching this whole time.”

“No I haven’t!”

“You have,” says Kilik. Black Star shoots him a look of betrayal.

Soul gestures with mock grandeur. “Spit it out, Black Star.”

“Well—I mean—why not go back to plucking the coastal landowners and clear off by water? If it’s going to be so hard.”

Soul narrows his eyes at his first mate, as does Kilik, though with the addition of a raised brow. “Why are you—of all people—suddenly so _meek?_ ”

“I’m not!”

“You are,” says Kilik flatly.

“Stop that.”

“Oi.” Soul snaps his fingers, causing Black Star to grimace. “What’s the deal?”

Looking as though he’s about to walk the plank—though not really, since he’s infamous for using it as a diving board—Black Star shuffles his feet and mumbles, “I know their first mate.”

“What?” says Soul, though he definitely heard, and he definitely knows exactly which first mate he’s referring to.

Kilik wisely chooses that moment to make himself scarce, closing the cabin door behind him to shouts of “ _ARE YOU A COMPLETE FOOL?”_ and _“JUST BECAUSE SHE PAID YOU A LITTLE ATTENTION—“_

“Is he going to finally kill him today?” asks Ox from the quarterdeck.

Kilik waves at the rest of the stunned crew to continue, saying, “We can only hope he gives him the belt this time.”

* * *

Soul learns the other ship is called the _Grigori_ , captained by one Maka Albarn, who until recently was a desk clerk with the navy, if Black Star’s story has any real merit. The rich part is that Black Star had spent the better part of their last stay at port chatting up the _Grigori’_ s first mate, someone named Tsubaki or close to. Soul didn’t really care about that part—he’s more concerned with the fact his own first mate hadn’t realized the quality of the information he’d been keeping.

“I didn’t know they were pirates too!” protests Black Star. “Tsubaki said they were acting tax collectors! Though…she _was_ laughing when she said it… hm…”

Soul refrains from slapping his own forehead only because there’s already a sizeable welt there.

* * *

As expected, they end up arriving just short of capturing the merchant vessel— _again_. Soul doesn’t need the seeing glass Ox offers him to recognize that flag, flicking mockingly in the wind. Instead he shouts orders down to Kilik, who passes it along to those manning the ropes. Soul rests a soothing hand on her rail as the _Scythe_ creaks, turning in the water. Every ache in her planks is a worry for Soul, whose attachment to the ship is rivaled only by that of the rest of the crew, who treat her as their only home.

The prow leans away from the emptied merchant vessel with the intent of cutting off the _Grigori_ ’s escape route. Sinking her would be a bit extreme, but with a pirate ship full of women seeping the ocean in ill luck and taking all his gold, stealing some of it back would be gratifying.

But the damned ship is too swift, slicing through the water with an agility Soul didn’t think possible by any common vessel. He knows the _Ocean’s Scythe_ won’t be able to effectively cut her off and force her into a confrontation.

Leaning over the rail, Soul shouts, “Stay the hell away from my money!”

Standing near the wheel, a plumed hat tips up against the sun. The other ship’s captain flashes him a grin that sets Soul on fire. “First come, first serve,” she yells right back.

* * *

It isn’t long before low funds force Soul and his crew to dock in one of a few port villages known for their thin veils of legality. Kilik saunters off with their best card counters to snap up the gambling tables, while Soul tries not to drink himself silly at the tavern. He can’t even say he’s in the mood for the ample bosoms on display. This worries Black Star, who fumbles his way through some tasteless jokes to get his captain to laugh.

“You’re freaking me out, man,” says Black Star when it’s clear he won’t be getting a grin, never mind a laugh.

Soul slides his fingertip through the condensation on the table. “We’re being led around by the nose by a bunch of godless rebels, and we’re scraping the barrel ‘cause of it.”

“Yeah, well—“

“Leave me to drown in my ale,” moans Soul.

He doesn’t see the pitying look Black Star gives him, but he does feel the clap of his hand on his shoulder before his first mate ambles off. He should really be furious with Black Star in the first place, but he can’t bring himself to care. First and foremost, they need funds. They need to defeat the _Grigori._ Making Black Star take night watch for a week can come later.

Soul chugs the rest of his ale, refills it and does the same, but no amount of alcohol sparks any ideas within his increasingly fuzzy mind.

Enlightenment comes in the form of their quartermaster, Harvar, who slaps his palm down flat on the table, jerking Soul’s head up from its surface. In response to his captain’s glazed stare, Harvar, impossible to read as always, leans forward and says, “I found us a job.”

* * *

The job turns out to involve an “off-shore bank account”. The details are in a folded up piece of thick parchment that Harvar says he relieved from a nervous lawyer type, cornered by sighing courtesans.

After returning to the safety of the _Ocean’s Scythe_ , Soul pours himself a glass of his thinking rum and settles in to brainstorm. This is the best possible solution to their ongoing _Grigori_ problem. They wouldn’t have to outsail her, and the details, however vague and coded, promised a sizable loot. Given the lawyer’s apparent distraction, he wouldn’t be able to notify his employer with any haste. Soul’s crew would be in and out.

Ox and Harvar come in to check on him just as he’s figured out the code.

“Sober up the crew,” says Soul. “We’ve got loot.”

A sharp gleam enters Ox’s eyes when he sees the coordinates laid out before him. Leaving Harvar to gather the other men, Ox plots their course with barely contained excitement. Soul hasn’t been the only one suffering from their continuous defeats, clearly.

They leave in the middle of the night, a full moon cast high above them to light their way. The ocean is calm, poor for sailing, but the men don’t seem to mind sweating out the alcohol warming their veins as they put oars to water. As the sky pales into dawn, the wind picks up, pulling the ship eagerly towards the riches waiting for her crew.

“You sure ‘bout this?” asks Kilik when the little island comes into view, backlit by the steadily appearing sun.

“This is the best opportunity we’ve had in months,” says Soul.

“Yeah, but is it safe?” Towards Soul’s cutting glare, Kilik shrugs and leans against the rail. “You know me, cap. I love a good tussle, but I don’t want the navy up my ass either.”

“You’re part of a pirate crew, unless you’ve forgotten.”

“I’m just sayin’. That was navy code you cracked. What if they’re waiting for a bunch of desperate fools to come coasting in?”

“We’ll see them before they see us,” says Soul confidently before calling up to the crow’s nest, “Eyes?”

“Clear!”

Soul grins smugly at Kilik, who is intent on remaining cynical about it.

* * *

They make land on a fair-sized island, probably enough to hold a village with land enough for a sustainable crop yield. It’s in the rough shape of a horseshoe, with steep cliffs on the outer curve that don’t make for comfortable docking. The forest-covered mountains cup a shallow bay inside which they find a sturdy dock, jutting out far enough that even the heaviest of boats won’t get stuck at the tide’s whim. Soul suspects the island is some rich man’s personal estate, but he can’t see any buildings beyond the trees and there are no other ships.

“We’ve got run of the place,” Soul says to his crew as soon as they’ve dropped anchor. “Black Star, Ox—you’re with me, as planned. Kilik will organize land-combing; Harvar holds the fort. We pull anchor at noon, no later.”

That last bit being a gift to Kilik, who hated docking with no alternate exit but for the mouth of the bay. The time limit sets them in motion at once. Soul feels his legs wobble on solid ground, but a brisk walk down the dock onto the beach remedies that quickly.

They use their scabbards to bat away the undergrowth as they navigate the forest. The air is humid and thick, laying heavily over Soul as he plucks at his shirt with his free hand. He loses track of how long they’ve been walking, but it can’t be long because it doesn’t seem as though the sun has risen any further, when Ox calls for them to stop.

“Here,” he says, stepping into a shallow valley cleared of undergrowth. The dirt is freshly churned—lucky for them, when Ox holds out the two shovels he’d deigned to bring along.

The day is a hot one; sweat beads along Soul’s hairline, soaking his headband into an itchy nuisance until he tugs it to sit around his neck. His shirt is glued to his chest and back, sweat getting in his eyes and dripping off the end of his nose. He doesn’t dare take a break, not while Black Star is using his abundant enthusiasm and stamina to do most of the digging. Then Soul’s shovel hits something solid, the sensation jarring his arms and washing the rest of him with relief.

A few more shovels and they’ve cleared a wooden hatch. Soul breaks the lock on it with the point of his spade and Ox pulls the door up. Within is a number of crates stamped with a vaguely familiar crest, some large oiled bags, and a chest. Soul jumps down at once, quickly followed by Black Star, and they work together to lift the heavy chest.

Ox makes a sound as though he’s the one lifting, which Soul ignores. With a heave, he and Black Star manage to free the chest from the carefully concealed room. They scramble up after it, sunlight streaming through the trees and lighting up the brass detailing with promise.

It’s then that Soul notices Ox’s tight-lipped expression, and the uninvited guest lounging on the twisted tree roots.

“Captain,” greets Maka Albarn with a teasing tilt of her hat.

Black Star groans loud to Soul’s left, “ _Tsubaki_ ” but Soul himself doesn’t break eye contact with the woman in front of him.

“We got here _first_ ,” snaps Soul, drawing his cutlass. “Back off!”

 _Click_. The hair on the back of Soul’s neck stands on end, sweat-soaked or no. He turns his head slightly to glare up at the pistol leveled at him from the trees, the bob-cut blonde wielding it beaming a dare at him.

“I admit,” says Maka, rising from her wooden throne and drawing Soul’s attention back to her with a snap, “I _am_ the one who said first come, first serve. But that’s before I realized how desperate you’ve become.”

“ _Hah?_ ”

She rests a hand on the pommel of her own cutlass, a deeply curved thing reminiscent of a scimitar. “Captain Soul Evans of the _Ocean’s Scythe_. Self-proclaimed hero of the little people. Take from the rich, give to the poor. Even the playing ground, didn’t you say?”

Though he’ll never admit it, the gaze aimed at Soul chills him to the bone.

“What are you going on about?” growls Soul, though he’s uncomfortably certain he knows the direction in which this is going. He feels rather than sees Black Star shift beside him, just as discomfited.

“Lately I’ve noticed you’ve forgotten your own words. Now you’re playing for keeps. You felt the give of gold between your teeth and now you want it for yourself, that right?” Maka’s lip curls derisively. “Pathetic.”

“I’ve got a crew of my own to take care of—“

“And I don’t blame you for that,” interrupts Maka, continuing coldly, “but you’re no longer the figure of common justice I admired. Now you’re just scum like the rest of them. Tsubaki, take the chest.”

Movement in the corner of Soul’s eye has him stomping his foot over the chest, blade turning to point at a tall woman approaching him. Soul is fully prepared to take a swipe at her when there’s a resounding _BANG_ and the tip of his cutlass breaks.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” chirps the gunslinger, a giggle in her voice.

Soul stares at his broken blade as Tsubaki steps up, pulls the chest out from under his boot, and hefts it to balance on one shoulder. Her bicep bulges from the effort, the skin wrapped in black tattoos of unfamiliar designs; she smiles apologetically.

He kind of understands Black Star’s circumstances, even if he’s freshly annoyed that his first mate did nothing to stop her.

“Thanks for your contributions,” says Maka, tipping her hat again with its infuriatingly fluffy feather. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know it’ll be put to good use feeding and clothing those unable, though I’m sure you’ve forgotten how to do that.”

Soul flushes, unable to retort as Maka begins backing out of the clearing, Tsubaki following.

The trees opposite the gunslinger rustle violently, and suddenly a woman with short hair the colour of sunset is dangling from a branch.

“Navy!” she shouts. “They’ve closed off the inlet—the other ship is captured!”

“ _No_ ,” utters Soul, and he’s spinning on his heel to address his crewmen. “On me.”

Black Star’s grin is a battle ready one, in contrast with the grim determination sported by Ox. There’s the slide of steel as they draw their swords.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” asks Maka, frowning at them.

“I don’t know what kind of man you think I am,” says Soul, “but I will never leave my crew behind.”

Maybe he had forgotten the original purpose to which he took to the water, but he’d never forget his crew. They came to him in various states of neglect, those he helped and those who helped him, and Soul vowed with every contract signed he would take care of them first and foremost. No matter the justice he’d dropped along the way, Soul’s crew is his family, and never would he leave them to the gallows.

The trio dash from the small clearing, taking the same path they’d taken until Ox snaps instructions to veer left. They stop at the top of a hill looking down at the inlet, crouching in the cover provided by ferns. Vaguely Soul is aware of others halting with them—Maka and her crew—but he doesn’t take his eyes off his ship, bobbing idly in the waves, crawling with navy soldiers.

Indignity wells up like bile in Soul’s throat at the sight of his precious ship being treated like an anthill. None of the men scouring it are welcome, least of all whomever has deigned to stand at the wheel. Three other ships, decked out in the colours of the navy, block any hope of escape.

Ox curses uncharacteristically, but still Soul doesn’t look away until he’s shoving the looking glass into his captain’s hands.

“It’s Captain Kid,” mutters Ox darkly.

Soul looks at him incredulously. “You’re shitting me.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Putting the glass to his eye, Soul focuses in on the lean man standing at the wheel and confirms for himself: “Holy fuck, that’s Captain Kid.”

“Why the hell is he _here?_ ” hisses Black Star.

“This estate is owned by the Dupré family,” says Maka, crouched at Soul’s shoulder.

Soul presses his face against the looking glass so hard it slips in his sweat and gouges his cheek. “Fuck.”

“You didn’t _know?_ ”

“Why the hell would I care?” snaps Soul, shooting Maka a scathing glare. “Just another rich family.”

“With deep ties to the navy,” adds Maka with irritation to match.

“But they shouldn’t even know we’re here. We gave ourselves time to get in and out before noon—well before any navy boat could catch up. It doesn’t make sense.”

Soul watches Maka’s expression cloud over with something a lot like guilt.

“What did you do?” he asks flatly.

Beyond Maka, her pink-haired crewmember looks away in a distinctly awkward fashion.

“What did you _do?_ ” repeats Soul.

“A member of our crew,” Maka bites out, “may be associated with them. Slightly.”

“You killed a member of the Dupré family?”

“What? No! Never.”

Soul blinks blankly. “You… kidnapped a member of the Dupré family?”

“No, she… she ran away from them,” says Maka weakly.

“ _Holy fuck_ ,” says Black Star eloquently.

Soul feels distinctly light-headed. “Great, thanks, then. You led Captain Kid, arguably the navy’s deadliest, straight to us because little miss Dupré couldn’t handle being a rich snob anymore. Now _my_ crew and _my_ ship is captured, all so that you could, what? Take her inheritance with you, too?”

“They shouldn’t have been able to track us!” snaps Maka.

“They don’t need to fucking track you if _they_ know that _you_ know where the fucking money is!”

The two captains glare at each other, Soul’s chest heaving and Maka’s face reddening.

“Hate to break this up,” interrupts Ox, “but our men…”

Soul twists away, putting the looking glass back to his eye and squinting at the shore. He recognizes Harvar by his spiky ponytail, sitting at the treeline bound in rope with the other members of the crew who had stayed near the ship. Kilik is nowhere in sight, nor those he’d taken with him around the island. That, at least, Soul can be grateful for.

“Ox,” says Soul, “you’ll free those captured while Black Star and I create a distraction. Arm them and we’ll take the _Scythe_ back.” Even as he says it, he doubts their chances of success. They’ll have to arm the cannons in record time, blast the navy ships out of the way, somehow navigate past the one at the mouth of the inlet, pick up Kilik and the others…

“There’s too many,” says Tsubaki softly. Her arms are empty—she’d left the chest.

Gold and jewels are the last thing on Soul’s mind, however. He feels as though there’s a cliff at his heels, open air and death below, with nowhere to go but back. He swallows the growing lump in his throat.

“I’ll make you an offer.”

Everyone looks at Maka. Her captain’s hat is tipped low over her eyes, glinting a deep emerald despite the shadow cast over them. Those eyes are fixed on Soul—captain to captain.

“We won’t be getting out of here unscathed either,” she continues, “unless our two crews work together. The _Grigori_ is anchored on the opposite side—“

“By the cliffs?” asks Ox with a frown.

“Yes. Jacqueline—the Dupré daughter—knows a safe place. On the southwest edge, where the tallest mountain turns into a cliff. We can still sail out of here.”

“I’m not leaving my men behind,” says Soul immediately.

“I wouldn’t ask you to. You mentioned a distraction earlier. We need a big one—big enough that they’ll be looking the wrong way for awhile.” She hesitates, green eyes flicking from the docked ships to Soul. “Just how much gunpowder is in the hold?”

For a moment, Soul doesn’t understand what she’s saying—then it clicks.

“Destroy the _Ocean’s Scythe_?”

Soul wants to protest—the ship is his home, the home for all members of the crew bound to it and him and each other. The _Scythe_ kept them safe in a hundred vicious storms, had flown them from the danger of nooses and law-abiding men countless times. It was important, had protected them when the law could or would not, but he also knew his ship was already gone.

“Soul—“ begins Black Star.

“Fine.” Soul inhales deep. “ _Fine_. Black Star.”

His first mate quirks a smile even as his chin trembles. “Right.”

Soul never liked the sight of blood on steel; liked it even less when blood washed the deck of some ship whose crew decided to fight to the end. The _Scythe’_ s crew had gotten away thus far with a combination of stealth, speed, and their ability to knock heads with great force. To Soul, greater skill came with deathless methods of getting what he wants.

But should any member of his crew be caught, Soul knows they will surely be hanged.

Maybe Maka sees this in his expression, or more likely she already knows from the history of battles strung behind Soul like lanterns. Whatever it is has her reaching out to tentatively touch her fingertips to his shoulder.

“Tsubaki and I will help you,” she says.

Such a promise shouldn’t come as a relief, but the stone in Soul’s throat dissolves and the empty air at his feet vanishes. He nods grimly.

“Ox, find Kilik,” says Soul. “Meet us at the _Grigori_.”

“Kim, Patty, free the prisoners and lead them there,” orders Maka.

“If there’s any doubt we’ve failed…” Soul’s gaze shifts to Maka, who meets it with unwavering determination. She nods; Soul exhales. “If there’s any doubt, set sail.”

“Captain—“ begins Ox the same moment Kim says, “But Maka—“

“We’re pirates,” interrupts Maka with a smile, rising and taking off her hat. “The crew comes first above any individual.”

“Even the captain,” agrees Soul.

The hat goes to Kim, who looks like she wants to argue with a scowl on her face, until Patty hooks their arms together and drags her off. Ox purses his lips before whipping his hand up in a salute and vanishing into the ferns.

Soul turns to Maka. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

It’s not an altogether pleasant experience, creeping aboard his own ship with the intent to essentially blow it up. It’s still crawling with naval officers, but they’re all concentrated above deck, and Soul knows nothing if not the _Ocean’s Scythe_.

The four pirates swim out to the _Scythe_ , putting her hull between them and the bulk of the navy. The anchor chain acts as a ladder to the rail. They shuffle along, mindful of where their fingers might be seen by someone patrolling the deck, until reaching the windows in the gun deck where the cannons poke out. Once inside, it’s a much simpler task to find the store of gunpowder and other questionably flammable material.

Soul hesitates; blowing the hold will not only destroy the ship, but kill all on board. Incredibly effective as a distraction, but…

Again, a touch to his shoulder. Soul meets Maka’s earnest gaze. “You can’t save them,” she says quietly, “but you can give them time to save themselves.”

She withdraws her hand, fingers sliding over worn leather and soaked linen. Soul presses his lips together, listening to the thump of boots above their heads, aware of three pairs of eyes waiting for him to make a decision.

* * *

The four pirates are scrambling over the sand when the smoke becomes noticeable. Once in the cover of trees, they pause to bear witness to their handiwork: plumes of black spilling from the portholes, flashes of bright flames licking at the wood, the occasional burst of sparks as clumps of gunpowder ignite. They’d chosen to soak most of the gunpowder, but a hefty gift was left as a finale, for when all the navy men gave up trying to save the ship they thought was the pirates’ only means of escape.

Soul is the last to turn away, eyes fixed on his precious ship until the fire spreads to the next deck. After that, he tries to focus on the whip of Tsubaki’s ponytail ahead of him instead of his burning home. It works too, with the pace Black Star in the lead has set, and the burning in his legs, and the gasping breaths Soul is being forced to take so desperately.

Then Black Star is bellowing a war cry. Tsubaki and Maka skid to a halt in front of Soul, forcing him to dodge around them as he draws his broken blade. Three navy soldiers are converging on his first mate, whose sword is already striped red to match the slash across one crewman’s chest.

Soul collides with the one nearest him. His momentum takes them into the path of a tree gnarled with strangling vines, the impact dislodging them from each other. Soul grabs for the long rifle in the man’s hand, matching his twisted grimace as he wrestles the weapon free. With a kick, the crewman is sent sprawling into the undergrowth, leaving Soul free to whip around with the rifle raised—only to stop, when he sees another pointed at his face.

Light flashes off metal. In the time it takes for Soul to catch his breath, Maka and Tsubaki have descended upon them. Maka wields her cutlass like it’s an extension of herself, weaving and slashing like a true master. In a heartbeat the rifle trained on Soul is in pieces and the navy soldier bleeding sluggishly on the ground. The man facing off against Black Star—and the one Soul kicked—have mysteriously vanished, swallowed by the dense forest, and Tsubaki is helping Black Star rise to his feet.

But Soul only has eyes for the other captain.

There she stands, gleaming sword in hand, smudged with gunpowder and mud, coated in a layer of sand with her hair in twisted knots, and Soul feels it like electricity in his veins—she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Maka sheathes her blade and meets Soul’s gaze. “Are you injured?”

“No,” he says, though there is something wrong with his heart. “Not at all. Thanks.”

She smiles. “Anytime.”

* * *

A column of thick smoke is visible in the sky. It weighs heavily on Soul until the four pirates break free from the trees and he sees his crew waiting at the edge of the cliff. Kilik is the first to stride forward and capture his captain in a hug, all the while Soul performing a head count.

“We’re all here,” says Kilik as he lets go, one hand gripping Soul’s shoulder firmly. “Few injuries, no casualties—same goes for them.”

He nods towards the cluster of woman greeting Maka and Tsubaki with evident relief. A couple distrustful glances are sent Soul’s way by strangers, which he ignores.

“Maka,” says Soul, turning from his men who all seem to want a part of their captain’s embrace.

The woman turns, as do her crewmates, half of which seem ready to hiss at Soul for daring to speak to their captain. It’s an endearing sort of loyalty, Soul can understand that—especially when his own fellows are crossing their arms and trying to exaggerate biceps.

“The ship is below,” Maka explains. “We’ll raise anchor immediately. Patty will come down last and watch our backs.”

Soul nods despite the muttering of his men. “Good. Ox, Kilik, you lead the men down. Black Star—“

“I’ll go down with Tsubaki,” says his first mate at once.

There’s a beat of silence, broken by a snort that Maka quickly tries to cover up with a cough. Beside her, Tsubaki has adopted a curious red complexion that matches the less-curious flush on Black Star’s face.

“Right,” says Soul slowly. “You…do that.”

The two crews shuffle awkwardly around each other as they descend the cliff via a narrow path, then use a dinghy to paddle out to the _Grigori_. Soul finds himself beside Maka moreso than not—close on her heels down the cliff, nudging shoulders in the boat, hands following boots up the ladder. It seems his body has already decided on its position standing beside Maka at the helm, as if he has any sort of equal standing with a captain of a different ship, when he himself owns none.

The loss of his home aches fiercely; he does not look towards the black smudge in the sky that serves as its grave marker.

The blond sniper, Patty, boards the ship last with her gun holstered. “They’re here,” she says just as the first bullet tears a chip off the railing.

“Set sail!” cries Maka.

The _Grigori’_ s crew is already in motion, drawing up the anchor and dropping the massive sails to catch the wind. Soul watches as his own crew do their best simply to be out of the way, obviously itching to do their own work but having no place to do so. The navy patrol up on the cliff are taking more daring pot shots at them.

Soul leans over the quarterdeck rail and bellows, “ _Well,_ have you never been on a ship before? She said set sail!”

The _Death Scythe_ ’s crew is immediately shamed into action. The work is scrambled, and more than one crewmate blunders into another body, but the change in speed is clear—in no time at all, they’re clear of the navy rifles and sailing out into the open ocean.

“They’ll be on us in no time,” Soul says, looking towards the curve of the island nearest the inlet.

“You forget what ship you’re on,” says Maka primly. Soul turns to see her grin. “The _Grigori_ won’t be caught so easily.”

“Your confidence is not unfounded.”

“You would know.”

Soul blinks at her, then throws his head back and laughs.

Being on the ship as it sails is a lot different than witnessing its speed from a distance. Maka’s ship is a thing of beauty, the masts etched with symbols that look suspiciously like charms. Soul wouldn’t put it past the other captain—she already seems to be owning the whole cursed crew gig.

The horizon is clear—not a navy vessel in sight—when Tsubaki joins them, a feathered hat in her hand. Black Star is not far behind, the entire night’s sky worth of stars in his eyes. Embarrassing, but Soul doesn’t say a word about his obvious mooning.

Tsubaki offers the hat to Maka, who takes it slowly. Her gaze drops to study the trim.

“I wanted to apologize,” she says.

Soul feels rather than sees the gaze of every crewmember snap to where they stand on the quarterdeck. “No need,” he says quickly.

“There is, I think,” she retorts, lifting her eyes to meet Soul’s. His heart does a funny flip. “You’re not the man I thought you were five years ago, nor are you the man I thought you were this morning. What I said was… unfair.”

“Not entirely.” Soul grins at her. “We’re pirates—few have the luxury of getting to know us.”

Green eyes flit between his, searching, reading into what he thought was a subtle invitation. She seems to find whatever it is she’s looking for when her features settle in determination. “You will not be without a home. You and your crew are welcome to stay aboard until it is safe to find you a new _Scythe_.”

“You know as well as I that could be a long time, Captain,” says Soul carefully, even while his heart beats wildly in his chest.

Maka dons her captain’s hat, tipping the brim up with one finger. Her eyes glitter in the shadow it casts. “A very long time indeed,” she says, quirking a roguish smile. “Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

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